


Where the Music Takes You

by PR Zed (przed), soundofthesurf



Category: Take That
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 20:25:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/przed/pseuds/PR%20Zed, https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundofthesurf/pseuds/soundofthesurf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Gary's help, Mark finds his place in the band, and a little bit more besides.</p>
<p>Written for the 2012 <a href="http://takethatslash.livejournal.com/">takethatslash</a> Secret Santa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Music Takes You

The first year, he’d still looked forward to being home for Christmas. He liked all the lads, and Rob especially, but working with them was hard and tedious, and being the smallest one wasn’t exactly the nicest role in this band. He had to get used to constantly being mocked and he had to get used to the competition. He’d have beaten them all if this was football, but unfortunately it wasn’t, and being out of his comfort zone didn't make his life any easier.

But for now it was Christmas and Mark looked forward to being home and having a break from the sit-ups and the press-ups, the harmonies and the dancing.

The second year was very much the same, except that he didn’t really want to be home either. Except for dancing in gay clubs and at school assemblies they hadn’t achieved much, so what was he supposed to tell his family and friends? Mark envied the others, Howard and Rob, who had problems managing all the parties they were invited to, and Jason and Gaz, who were happily anticipating Christmas with their families, who were so proud of them.

Not that his family wasn’t proud of him. They were. It was just that Mark himself felt a bit empty.

The third year things were looking up, and Mark didn’t even notice it was Christmas – the parties Rob dragged him to were too distracting. In fact, Mark didn’t remember too much of that Christmas. Which, maybe, was for the best.

It was the fourth year that marked the change. Sure, Howard and Jason were still better dancers than him, and Gary and Rob were better singers, but it was Mark’s pile of fan mail that was the highest. And then, the day before Christmas Eve, at some party at Nigel’s house, a slightly tipsy Gary took him aside and informed him that he was going to use the Christmas break to write a song for Mark.

"After all, 's'not right, is it?" Gary said, slinging an arm over Mark's shoulder. "Our most popular member not having a song."

"I'm only popular because I smile nicely," Mark said, ducking his head down to avoid Gary's gaze. "It's the rest of you that are actually talented."

"Aww, don't say that, Markie." Gary shook his shoulder. "You're as talented as anyone. Don't you forget it." And then Gary leaned in and kissed Mark, a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Mark felt something twist in his chest, felt his breath catch in his throat, and he didn't quite know if it was because Gary was writing him a song, or because Gary had called him talented, or because Gary had kissed him.

Whatever it was, Mark felt like he was walking on a cloud. The rest of the night passed in a blur, a blur of beaming, and drinking, and finally dragging Gary on the dance floor with him, much to the surprise of other band members.

“What the fuck’s going on there?” Howard yelled into Jason’s ear, pointing towards Gary and Mark.  
“Gary’s dancing,” Jason said, “voluntarily.” He shook his head in disbelief.  
“Why won’t he ever move like that when we want him to?” Howard’s voice sounded slightly frustrated. “It's always a fight to get him to move a little and now….this….!?”  
“Because”, Jason patted his friend on the shoulder, “we don't smile like that.”

The party was over far too soon for Mark’s liking and before he knew it he found himself in a taxi, desperately trying to remember his home address. “It’s my first flat on my own, you know, and I only just moved there and it’s on…on…” Just before the taxi driver started getting impatient, the door to Mark’s left was opened.  
“Mark? Ah, thank goodness, there you are!” Gary stuck his head in and smiled, which made Mark smile. “You’ve got to give me your new address, so I can come and drop you the demo once I’ve finished your song!”  
“45 Rylands Ave.” Mark answered without thinking.  
“Oh,” the taxi driver remarked sarcastically, “when _he_ asks you know where you live. I wish I'd known that, would’ve spared me some time.” Mark blushed to a deep red, but if Gary noticed he didn’t let it show.  
“I’ll give you a call once it’s finished” he said, placed another sloppy kiss on Mark’s cheek and left Mark alone in the taxi, alone with the driver and the butterflies in his tummy.

* * *

Christmas gave way to the New Year, weeks became months, and Gary didn't say any more about Mark's song. Mark was beginning to think he'd dreamed that Christmas party, had imagined what Gary had said to him and that evening spent on the dance floor. Except that Gary seemed to smile at him more, seemed to give him a hug and a kiss even more often than before, and the butterflies in Mark's tummy seemed to multiply any time Gary looked at him, any time he touched him, however innocently.

"Young love," Howard had said with a wink, after Mark had spent half an hour helping Gary learn their latest dance routine. Mark had felt his face burn with embarrassment.

"Leave the lad alone, How," Jason had said, and given Howard a cosh on the back of his head. "You don't listen to him, Mark. He's just jealous." Though Jason wasn’t sure who he was jealous of.

Robbie had just rolled his eyes at the lot of them on his way out the door.

Then one night, when Mark had given up all hope of having his own song, there was a knock on the door of his flat.

It was one of the rare nights when they were in Manchester and there were no demands on their time. Mark had been enjoying a night in, just him, a glass of wine and a good book. When he'd answered the door, there was Gary, a grin on his face, and a cassette tape held firmly in one hand.

"I've got it, Markie."

"Got what?"

"Your song." Gary's grin got even wider as he shook the tape at Mark. "Can I come in?"

"Of course!" Mark waved Gary into the flat. 

Gary stopped at the entrance to the lounge and looked around, entranced.

"This is really nice, Mark."

"It's just a flat," Mark said, hoping he hadn't blushed in embarrassment.

"No, it's lovely." Gary was standing in front of the sofa, looking at a painting Mark had found at a local gallery and fallen in love with. "You've done a fantastic job with it, Mark. 

"Thanks." Mark felt as pleased as he was embarrassed. He'd taken as much care with furnishing this flat as he'd always done with his clothes, and he was proud of how it had turned out. Proud of the way the flecks in the fabric of the sofa echoed the deep blue of the walls, and the way the art he'd chosen created a sense of calm in this place. He needed that sense of calm. There was little enough else that was calm in his life.

He looked up to find Gary had deposited his jacket on a chair and was standing in front of stereo.

"Shall we give it a listen?" Gary was bouncing on the balls of his feet, and looking pleased with himself, but Mark also thought he saw a slight trembling in his hand, a nervous gleam in his eye. But that was stupid. Gary didn't get nervous, and he certainly wouldn't be nervous about playing a song for Mark. 

"Would you like a glass of wine?" Mark offered.

"No, I want you to hear this now." Gary gave Mark a shove onto the sofa, then shoved the tape into the cassette deck and pressed play, even as Mark suppressed the urge to tell him he wasn't ready.

There was the hiss of the tape, and then the playing of a piano, and Gary's voice as he began to sing.

It was beautiful.

Mark felt he must have held his breath through the whole song, and when it was done he sat there, amazed that Gary was going to give him this song. It deserved much better than his poor voice.

"Do you like it?" Gary's grin had faded, and there was a definite air of nervousness in his expression. "It's not quite like our usual numbers. I gave it a bit of a story, and it's a slow ballad. I thought it would suit your voice." Gary was babbling, Mark was stunned to realize. He was actually babbling, actually cared if Mark liked the song or not.

"I love it, Gaz!" he said, breaking out of the paralysis that had held him as the music had played. "It's brilliant!" 

"Fantastic!" Gary rubbed his hands together, and Mark saw his nervousness evaporate entirely, replaced by a sense of glee. "Do you want to listen to it again?"

"Yeah!"

They listened to it over and over, Mark concentrating on the lyrics and the melody, and on Gary sitting beside him. 

His wonder that this song was actually his only increased, along with the wonder that Gaz seemed to actually want to spend time with him. Every time Gary leaned against him or hugged him or took his hand to emphasise a point, Mark felt his chest swell and his head swim and he thought that this might be the most perfect night he'd ever spent.

Now it only remained to make the recording.

* * *

The day of the recording was cold and windy, and dark clouds were hanging over Manchester. Not the best of signs, Mark thought when he left the flat. It was only the thought of seeing Gary in the studio that stopped him from heading straight back into the house and back into his bed to hide safely under the duvet. Mark hadn’t seen Gaz for three days now, because he was busy coordinating their studio dates and overseeing the production process and, of course, singing his own leads. It was the stress of so much responsibility, Mark assumed, that had made him a bit short-tempered and impatient. At least that was what he’d told Rob the other night, when he'd shown up on his doorstep to invade his lounge with a bottle of Vodka and ten-thousand complaints about how badly Gary had treated him at the recording session that day.

“He gets so fucking annoying just coz you forgot a word of his precious lyrics, fucking hell! He’s a right pain in the arse and bossy as fuck.”  
“Yeah, but you know, Rob, he’s the one who takes stick from Nigel if we extend our studio time and increase costs…” Mark had said slowly.  
“Whose fucking side are you on?” Rob had angrily shouted and it had taken Mark some time and a couple of drinks to calm him down again.  
“You wait and see how he treats you when you’re singing your song! When’s that anyway?”  
“Day after tomorrow”, Mark had mumbled nervously.

And today was the day after tomorrow and Mark was still nervous. He’d recorded background vocals so many times before and he knew the producers, the technicians, and the studio staff very well by now– but today it all seemed like the first time, like a whole new world. His first lead solo. Mark’s palms were damp with sweat and his face was white as a ghost. What if he forgot the lyrics? Or sang out of tune? Or, even worse, both? What if Gary had a go at him too? When he arrived at the studio Mark was a nervous wreck.

Being a nervous wreck, Mark soon found out, wasn’t conducive to singing a great lead. On his first attempt, his voice cracked strangely several times, and he seemed to forget everything he’d learned about breathing. He tried to concentrate on the melody and the words, his eyes shut tight, his fingers clenched in fists so tight his nails left marks on his palms. At least, he thought, he’d got the melody more or less right and not forgotten any words. But still, he feared the result were anything but good.

He finally dared to open his eyes and take a nervous look through the window separating him from the producer’s booth. Four pairs of eyes stared at him, somewhere between disbelief, disappointment and amusement. And then there was Gary, looking at him with a completely unreadable expression. Mark’s heart sank. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes again was Gary getting up from his chair, then he heard the door opening and the unmistakable scent of Gary’s after-shave filling the booth.

Having Gary that close in this small booth, taking in his smell, feeling him near, did nothing to make Mark feel more comfortable. And expecting him to get really angry with him only made Mark feel even worse. So when Gary started speaking to him softly, it took Mark a moment to understand it was really him Gaz was addressing.  
“You all right, Markie?”  
“Huh?” was all Mark could utter in response.  
“I’m just worried, because you’re so pale and tense – are you coming down with something maybe?” Mark had never heard Gary speak softer or more tenderly, and with so much concern in his voice. “If you’re not feeling well we’ll re-schedule your session. You can’t sing a big lead like this if you’re ill.”  
“No, no, I’m not ill! I’m just…” Finally Mark dared to look at Gary, “I’m just…a bit nervous.”  
The air between them seemed to sizzle, while Gary looked at Mark with so much affection and genuine compassion, and Mark looked at Gary with a nervousness and tension he couldn’t explain, just as he couldn’t explain the goose bumps on his arms and the sparkles that seemed to float through the air. Maybe, Mark thought for a second, maybe I _am_ coming down with something. And then Gary pulled him into a hug, very tight, very firm, very determined, and mumbled into his ear, “no need to be nervous, Markie. Don’t you worry, you’ll do fine. Just breathe and let go. This is _your_ song, okay? Only you can bring it to life; no one else could.”

Later, Mark didn’t know how long this moment had lasted, and he didn’t remember at which point he’d hugged Gary back and held him close, afraid of ever letting him go again, and he didn’t know, and he didn’t care if the rest of the production team were watching them. All he knew was he felt happy and safe and protected and cherished, and he didn’t want this moment to end. So when Gary asked him if he was ready for another try he was tempted to say no and just hug Gary even tighter. The question, however, was asked so warmly, with so much anticipation and trust, that Mark just couldn’t let him down.

Gary left the booth with a last smile at Mark and Mark took a deep breathe and shut the world out and got lost in this song. _His_ song.

His next attempt was flawless. Perfect. Breath-taking.

When the last note had faded Mark opened his eyes and glanced over to the production booth. Again four pair of eyes were staring at him, only this time in awe. Behind them stood Gary, and Mark could see the pride in his eyes, could read his lips mouthing ”told you so.”

It was Mark’s happiest day in Take That so far. Better than the Christmas party, better than hearing the song for the first time in his flat.

He wasn't sure quite how it could be improved upon.

* * *

The next day passed quickly for Gary, like all days in the studio did. And it passed slowly for Mark, like all days he was home alone.

Gary was about to leave the studio when Chris, one of the producers, called after him, “Gary! Gary! Wait! I’ve got yesterday’s song taped for you, thought you might like to share it with Mark? I’ve seen he's not booked for any more sessions for this album, so he won’t hear it before the album’s out…”  
“Thanks, mate, that’s brilliant!” Gary’s face was all smile and glimmer. “Bless you!”

And so, half an hour and a couple of traffic violations later, Gary found himself on Mark’s doorstep once more. Only this time he was holding an even better version of "Babe" than he'd had last time.

Mark opened the door hesitantly, clearly not expecting anyone, but then his face lit up and his eyes started to glisten when he saw who it was. “Gaz!” Mark opened the door fully. “Come in, come in! What brings you here? You hungry? I’ve only just made dinner and it’s enough for two, really, I always cook loads, so I have leftovers for the next day, you know?” He dragged Gary inside, almost ripping his jacket off him, shoving him into the lounge, all the while constantly babbling. Gary was too stunned to even try and get a word in. “But it’s no problem if we eat everything today and I don't have any leftovers for tomorrow, really! I’ll just cook something new! Do you like pasta with pesto and cheese? I’ve got salad to go with it, and…” Mark ended his babbling as abruptly as he started it, right in the middle of the sentence and right in the middle of the lounge.

They stood still, facing each other, Mark biting his lip, Gary playing around with the tape in his hands, nervousness surrounding them like a cloud of fog surrounding the top of a mountain.  
“I’ve not come for dinner…” Gary started, stopping in his tracks when he saw Mark’s slightly disappointed face. “But it smells delicious! I’d love to try some of that pasta later.” _Bloody hell, Barlow_ , he thought. _This is Mark, not some bird you're trying to pull. Why are you stammering like an idiot?_ But that was when he realized the truth. That he really was trying to pull Mark. That Mark meant more to him than…anyone. But he wasn't going to win him with any romantic small talk stuff. Howard and Jason were the experts at that, not him. Even Rob was better at it than him. Better to stick with what he was really good at: the music. The music would take him where he needed to go. It always had. “I’ve come to bring you this”, he said simply and handed Mark the tape.  
“Is this…?” Mark took the tape, and briefly his fingers touched Gary’s, causing both of them to look away and blush and smile. Then Mark went and put the tape into his stereo, with trembling fingers pushing the play-button.

Music filled the room, Howard's backing vocals leading to the verse and Mark's voice. Mark's voice was the perfect instrument for the melody and the lyrics, just like he'd known it would be.

Gary smiled and looked up at Mark, only to see tears rolling down Mark's face.

"What's the matter?" he asked, alarmed, even as he touched a finger gently to a wet cheek. "Don't you like it?"

"No," Mark said, shaking his head emphatically. "Bloody hell, no. It's just-" He stopped speaking and looked down for a moment. When he looked up again he was smiling through his tears. "I don't think anyone's ever believed in me quite so much before.

"Oh, Mark…" Gary didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything. He grabbed Mark's hand, pulled him into a hug and before he could talk himself out of it, he was kissing him.

And wonder of wonders, Mark kissed him back.

* * *

"Mr Blobby." Howard looked up in disgust as he finished reading the holder of the week's number one spot on the singles chart. "The Christmas top spot goes to bloody Mr Blobby. It's not fair."

"If we'd held on for another week, it'd be Mr Blobby saying it wasn't fair." Jason was lying on the floor of the studio, stretching his legs before they started working on a new routine for the next inevitable round of promotion.

"Better him than us. And I feel sorry for Mark. Would have been nice for him to get the Christmas number one."

"Oh, I don't think he minds," Jason said, looking over to where Mark was talking to Gary. "Do you?"

Howard looked across the studio and saw Mark smile as Gaz put his hand on his shoulder. Even for Mark, it was a far from ordinary smile. It was the sort of smile you gave someone you cared about very much indeed.

"No," Howard said. "I don't think he minds at all."


End file.
